


Don't Deconstruct

by lamanguejoyeuse



Series: according to picture books (apparently heaven is a partly cloudy place) [1]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Community: capkinkmeme, Conspiracy, Dark, M/M, Paranormal, but if it was tony would be scully, sort of like the x-files but not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamanguejoyeuse/pseuds/lamanguejoyeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is a scientist for the Foundation, a morally ambiguous organization that might just secretly <strike>rule</strike> <i>serve</i> the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Deconstruct

**Author's Note:**

> So, first of all, WARNING: this references SCP-231 (http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-231) often, which features implications of non-con and torture. I don't intend to reference any non-con directly in any of the stories, however.
> 
> This is a crossover/fusion with [the SCP Foundation](http://www.scp-wiki.net/), which is a paranormal fan made wiki. You can get a feel for the group's mission/POV by reading the [about page](http://www.scp-wiki.net/about-the-scp-foundation) and the Ethics Committee orientation [post](), or anything under the guide and orientation tags. 
> 
> I originally wrote this for [this](http://capkink.livejournal.com/810.html?thread=298538) prompt on capkink ages ago. I plan on continuing it in Steve's POV later.

“Jesus Christ.”

Tomorrow, during counseling, Tony was going to ask for a Class A Amnesiac.

Almost a month, and he _still_ couldn’t sleep without going back to that sea of faceless personnel with muffled voices, absolutely nothing real except _her_ —

Tony thought of the missive, sent out ages ago. Back then, he’d only heard dark rumors—nothing substantial—and threw out the missive without a second thought. It was only after serving on Procedure 110-Montauk that he remebered it at all.

_class a amnesiac… false memories… implanted … some of you who've worked on SCP-231… **don't remember it**._

Was he assigned to SCP-231-7 before? Those two years working on SCP-914 could easily be memories created in some lab, implanted after Tony was too broken to go on. It didn’t make sense; he knew, because why would the Foundation recruit him if they weren’t going to use his engineering expertise? Procedure 110-Montauk itself was a waste of his skills, all he did was serve as tech support.  He only served at all because of what happened to the last guy ████████████

Tony Stark stared at himself blearily in the bathroom mirror, and tried to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth.

He could ask for an amnesiac, but forgetting would be worse.

Bio-Research Area-12 was _big._ Not that he had much to compare it to; he’d only worked on Site 109 previously, and he’d never actually seen 231-7’s site. They kept him blindfolded during the entire four-hour commute and he hadn’t been allowed outside during his two-month stay.

Tony didn’t belong here. Biology, particularly genetics, definitely wasn’t his specialty, and from what he understood of his current duties, he was basically reduced to a menial work until they transferred him to a more suitable assignment.

He couldn’t figure out if his psychiatrist had figured out the extent of his… _sympathy_ toward 231-7, but probably not. They wouldn’t let him into Area-12 if they thought that he was compromised.

“ _So,_ ” Tony eyed the agent escorting him curiously. “Where are the bigwigs putting me, exactly? “

“SCP-740. The Super Man,” the agent answered smoothly. “The project’s head is no longer allowed contact with the subject, so you’ll be taking several of his duties. “

They paused at the door of a holding cell.  Through the two-way mirror, Tony could see a very fit blonde man sprawled on a simple bed, reading a worn looking novel. “I do hope you have more self-control. The Foundation prefers to maintain _some_ illusion of professionalism, and we would like to keep 740 _alive_.”

Tony almost snorted. It took a lot to earn the wrath of the Ethics Committee. 

740 must have heard them speaking, as he turned his head toward the mirror. Tony knew that 740 couldn’t actually see them, but he still looked away.  “No worries there.”

“Of course.” She handed him a thick file. “Everything you need to know about 740 is here, including your responsibilities. You’ll start your post tomorrow morning. Good day, Dr. Iron.”

Tony waited until the agent’s footsteps faded before looking back at the mirror. 740 was back to reading, thankfully, allowing Tony to study him without much guilt. He was young—probably several years younger than Tony, maybe in his mid-20’s. He didn’t look particularly dangerous _or_ unusual, but most of the human SCP didn’t, either.

Quietly, he found his way to the staff living quarters. His dorm was still mostly barren, empty of any personal effects aside from some clothing and half-finished projects. He took a seat on his couch and finally, opened 740’s file.

“Captain America. Huh…”

\--

The following morning, Tony was greeted by alarms on his way to the labs. He immediately tried to make himself scarce—getting in the way during any sort of incident at the Foundation was a terrible idea, generally resulting in death, if _lucky_.  
As it turned out, he wasn’t quite fast enough. As he rounded a corner, Tony collided with something very solid and very warm, and was promptly knocked to the ground.

He looked up straight into the wide eyes of 740. “Well, shit.”

For a long moment, they just _stared_ at each other. Somewhere in the back of Tony’s mind, he thought about the tranquilizer gun hidden inside his lab coat, that it wouldn’t work fast enough to save him, that these kinds of encounters with loose Euclid level SCP—fucking _Captain America_ in his case, no less, he could snap his neck with his bare hands—tended to end very badly for researchers like himself. 

He didn’t have a chance to think beyond how much he didn’t _care_ before the sounds of approaching agents broke their trance. 740 looked almost laughably startled, snapping out of it just long enough to send him one last fleeting glance before running.

Tony took several deep, calming breaths, stumbling back to his feet just seconds before a troop of agents in riot gear ran past. 740 didn’t stand a chance.

And now, with his assignment on the loose, Tony had nowhere to be. He couldn’t go back to his empty apartment, not yet, and he had an office somewhere on the site, one that he hadn’t bothered to find yet, but he didn’t want to go there, either. Tony didn’t think he could handle the silence.

So, he wandered instead—he wasn’t sure for how long, he was just trying not to think too hard about anything at all—until his cell phone pinged with an email from some Agent Rushman: “ _740 back in custody. 316 used to enforce compliance. Observe effects & forward to Dr. Blast_.”

\--

Through the double mirror, 740 was a stark contrast against the rest of the room, like someone who had stepped straight out of an old black and white film. He was completely grey, right down to his clothing. This wasn’t a surprise; in his file, the possibility of using 316 either for experimentation or simple disciplinary action was mentioned several times, and Tony had made sure to read up on it. The lack of color was only an expected side effect.

740 didn’t look up as Tony went through the security measures and came into the room. It wasn’t until Tony cleared his throat pointedly that he seemed to realize that Tony was in the room at all.

"Howard?" 740 stared at him with dazed eyes.

"Afraid not." Tony gave him a tight smile. "You can call me Dr. Iron."


End file.
